Oh, has it been a year since my last post? Yes, it has. Of course, it has. And this silence is, not surprisingly, SARS-CoV-2 related.
Things in my life were just starting to look better. I had a short story, “Bread and Iron,” published with Short Édition, my son finally adjusted to our new home, and my two girls were just starting in day care. I was looking forward to returning to a regular writing routine and a bit of time for myself after a year of being entirely focused on my twin daughters. I was tired. I was so tired. But I knew that now life would slowly return back to normal for me.
And then, the shit hit the fan.
They closed the kindergartens. It was no longer safe for my mom to come and help. My husband still had to keep working, somehow. And we were five at home. All. The. Time. Initially my husband and I tried to split working and taking care of the kids. But in the end, it just got messy and unproductive. And I felt like I was back to square one; to where writing was not a priority but something done in between. I felt so trapped.
Then the summer came, and we got a breather. Not a minute too soon. And what the summer brought was the SFWA Nebula Conference, which I was now for the first time able to attend and that without having to take a trans-Atlantic flight. Needless to say, I made full use of this opportunity. (At list one small consolation for the world having gone mad.)
I met lots of great people and was even accepted as a mentee, which was of a huge help as my mentor agreed to check my query letter. I also got to chat with an agent, which was extremely informative as I got an inkling of why my earlier querying was unsuccessful. Great to know, but now I need to do another huge rewrite of my novel.
I better get on with it. Because who knows what the winter will bring. I so hope that life will retain some semblance of normality.